Laughing with a Mouth of Blood
by Red Shiloh
Summary: Kenny's just trying to get by in the world and protect the one good thing in his life, his baby sister Karen who lives in a dream world. One day, her imagination becomes all too real and steals her away. It's down to Kenny to get her back.  AU  Will be K2
1. Chapter 1

Title: (Laughing with a) Mouth of Blood

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, we all know who does. They are aged up above legal age of consent.

Summary: Kenny's just trying to get by in the world and protect the one good thing in his life, his baby sister Karen. Karen's a dreamer, her ability to create imaginary worlds is a constant marvel to Kenny. But one day, her imagination becomes all too real when she is whisked away to a strange circus land and it's down to Kenny to get her back.

Author's Notes: This is set in an Imaginationland AU. The boys didn't grow up together. Tital is taken from the song of the same title by St. Vincent which played a big hand in inspiring this story (the song quoted in the beginning of each chapter). I hope you enjoy, my lovelies.

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><p><em>Just like an amnesiac<em>  
><em>Trying to get my senses back<em>  
><em>(Oh, where did they go?)<em>

_Laughing with a mouth of blood_  
><em>From a little spill I took<em>  
><em>(Oh, what are you laughing at?)<em>

Kenny knew he would do anything for Karen. She was his baby sister and his world. It didn't matter what happened to him, as long as Karen was ok then so was he.

Their parents weren't bad at heart, they were just stupid and Kenny learnt at a young age that he couldn't rely on them for anything. The only thing he could count on was their ability to hunt down and drink anything even remotely alcoholic in the house. One time, when they were particularly low on their combined addictions, their drinking material even included a bottle of hand sanitizer from the bathroom.

When Karen was born, Kenny was six years old. His brother, Kevin, was in his teens and already taking the first tentative steps into following his parents in their self-destructive spiral. When Karen was first brought home from the hospital, she was a tiny shivering bundle of blankets and the raw redness of new skin.

Kenny sat for hours just watching her, marvelling at her tiny hands, her blue eyes that blinked up at the ceiling not yet able to focus on anything. Everything about her was so fresh and so pure; he'd never experienced anything like it. Before Karen was brought home, Kenny's life was made up of broken fragments and tarnished ideals. He didn't realise how much he'd needed something like Karen until he set eyes on that tiny little baby. Karen was the embodiment of a future to him, everything about her was love and goodness and from that moment, when he sat hunched over her cradle too scared to even touch her while their mother twitched and dozed from exhaustion and withdrawal beside them, from that moment Kenny vowed that no matter what happened to him, he would always be there for Karen. No matter what.

Karen grew into a timid, doleful soul despite Kenny's best efforts. She made a few friends, but she never brought them home with her. Kenny couldn't fault her for that, he rarely took anyone home either, he could never be sure what state his parents would be in when he did. Despite this, Karen was happy in her own company a lot of the time. Playing make-believe and reading, she was a dreamer, but in a way that felt more acute than was the norm. The intensity of Karen's dream world was less of an absent daydream, and more along the lines of a whole other universe that she seemed to cross between effortlessly. Often, when Kenny came home he could hear Karen up in her room holding entire conversations with her dolls. She would even stop every now and then, like she was listening to them, and then she would respond to whatever question they had asked.

Sometimes Kenny tried to join in, but when he picked up one of the dolls and danced it around putting on his best screechy little doll voice demanding 'tea and scones!', Karen would just look at him, smile softly and explain that 'none of her dolls liked tea but thank you for trying'.

With Karen being how she was and their home life being the state it was, it wasn't too surprising when Karen's dream world developed into a collection of imaginary friends.

None of them had names, but each one was a character from the circus.

There was the fat clown, a figure who Karen told Kenny was funny because of how surly he was.

The ring master, a mousey character who rarely visited.

The diamond dancers, they always came in groups, Kenny wasn't certain quite how many there were, they seemed to differ in numbers each time.

The handyman, a humble kindly figure who was always there when Karen was sad. Kenny thought maybe the handyman was the father Karen never had but always wanted.

And the trapeze artist, who Karen said was as lithe and proud as he was fiery. The trapeze artist seemed to be Karen's favourite. Karen would spend hours telling Kenny how beautiful the trapeze artist was with his sparkly outfits and his red hair. She told him that the trapeze artist and the fat clown didn't like each other and they always made her laugh with how much they fought.

If their parents had noticed then maybe they would have been worried about how immersed in her dream world Karen was becoming. But they barely saw anything past their next drink. If they'd noticed, like normal parents, maybe they would have had the wisdom to realise and put a stop to it. But they didn't; and Kenny, loving and protective as he was, was still young and he couldn't see. The way he saw it, Karen's dream world was about the only thing that could guarantee her some happiness and escapism, so he kept it a secret with her and let the world grow and develop.

And then one day she disappeared.

"I don't like it, Kenny," she'd said to him the night before her disappearance. "I don't want to talk to them anymore. They scare me."

It shocked him at the time; he couldn't quite comprehend what she was telling him. "Just stop talking to them," he told her.

But Karen was shaking her head. She couldn't stop. She couldn't make them go away. "The fat clown," she said. "He's gone so mean, he won't let the others through and he keeps telling me he's going to take me away." And then she was crying and telling Kenny that she didn't want to go, please don't let the fat clown take her.

Kenny held her and promised that he wouldn't let anything happen to her, hugging her tighter than was necessary until she gave a little squeak. He kissed her on the forehead as he told her that nothing was going to get her, not tonight. Tomorrow they would work something out, tomorrow.

By tomorrow, she was gone. And on her bed, a note was left.

_She's ours now. You dumb fuck._

_ EC_

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><p>Two police officers sat in their front room with mugs of coffee balanced on their laps. Soap suds still lingered in the handles of the mugs from where Kenny had missed rinsing them off to brew the two officers the coffee.<p>

Kenny's parents, who had managed to rouse themselves from their drunken stupor at least long enough to give some semblance of being responsible parents sat on two of the wooden chairs they'd brought in from the kitchen. Kenny's mum, Carol, was openly crying. Kenny's dad, Stuart, sat still and stiff as a post with ashen face and reddened eyes. Though it was unclear whether that was down to the shock of Karen going missing, or the beginnings of withdrawal.

The officers, who seemed to have read the situation of the household within minutes of setting foot through the doorway into their filthy living room, directed the majority of their questions to Kenny.

Kenny had always found it difficult trusting the police. He'd never been in trouble with them beyond the odd chastisement for petty theft or school truancy, but he had an inherent hatred for any form of established law. Perhaps because on some level he lived in constant fear of having his family torn apart by them, because dysfunctional as they were, they were still his family, and it was all he really had.

"You say she'd been seeing things?" one of the officers, a middle aged woman with pinched features and straw coloured hair asked. "What kind of things?"

"I don't know." Kenny shrugged, aggravated, he fretted at his already mussed up hair, wanting bitterly to pull his hood up, he always felt over exposed when it was down. "She just had these imaginary friends or something, these circus people. But it's not that she's, like, crazy or anything, they were just imaginary."

"No, of course," the officer said and she tried to smile in a gentle, soothing manner as her eyes glanced at the sorry states that were his parents. "That kind of thing is… normal, in these situations."

She meant well, she meant to comfort him and let him know that she understood, but her words only rubbed him the wrong way and he glared into the corner of the room.

"What're you going to do about this god damn pervert letter?" Stuart demanded, he banged the table with a fisted hand, but it was poorly timed and jarred awkwardly with his words. Kenny flinched at how it made his father look.

Carol let out a loud broken sob into a handful of tissues, her voice quavered in a low keening wail, repeating over and over 'my baby, they took my baby…'

The police officer who had not yet spoken looked at the two of them awkwardly and the other spoke for them.

"We're taking the letter into account, Mr. McCormick. I assure you we'll be doing everything we can."

Kenny could tell there was an unspoken 'but' there. He cleared his throat to catch the officers' attention and then nodded his head to the front door. His parents were so dazed and confused they didn't even raise comment when Kenny and the two officers stepped outside.

"You don't believe she's been taken." Kenny said, wading straight through the shit. The officers looked a little taken aback by his direct question, almost accusation. The female officer was first to recover.

"We're not taking this lightly," she reassured in the same gentle voice.

"But…"

The two officers shared a look; a silent agreement seemed to pass between the two of them.

"Mr. McCormick," the female officer began. "We take every child runaway case seriously-"

"Runaway," Kenny repeated flatly.

"A suitcase of Karen's possessions was also missing; there was no sign of a struggle. For all intents and purposes this looks like a runaway case."

"And the letter?" Kenny felt a rising sense of anxiety, his baby sister was missing and the police weren't going to do much more than file a missing persons report.

"It's not uncommon for children in Karen's circumstances to create fantasy worlds. The letter could well be a plea for attention; it looks like she wants you to find her."

Kenny barked an ugly laugh; the anxiety plummeted to a lead weight of dread. "You can't be serious. Karen's not that kind of kid… she wouldn't run away!"

"We'll do all we can, kid," the other officer spoke up for the first time, and Kenny realised why he hadn't done so before. Gruff and abrasive, the female officer may have been able to adopt an air of concern and genuinely giving a crap, but this guy couldn't. "It's a busy time of year this, your sister's not the only kid to run off."

"Look, put up posters, ask her friends, you do what you can and we'll do what we can," the female officer said. "We'll be in touch."

Kenny watched them leave, silent anger bubbling within. He knew what that meant. Karen would be logged into the system, just another sad kid from a broken home. He story had already been written for her and they weren't going to go out of their way to search for her. Those efforts were saved for the golden children from the other side of town, the ones whose parents could offer thousands in rewards and endless press. His eyes pricked with a low simmering rage that only grew to encompass everything surrounding him. The cops for not giving a shit, the god damn note signed by EC whoever the hell that was, his parents for being such lousy shitty wastes of space. The only thing he didn't wish dead that very moment was Karen, and when he thought of her the rage dropped away to icy fear.

* * *

><p>No one had seen Karen. Days passed with no sign; days turned to weeks which in turn became months. Darkness filled Kenny's world. He searched tirelessly for her. He did everything the police suggested; asking her friends, putting up posters, searching Karen's usual haunts, he even tried getting the local paper involved. They responded by publishing a small ad in the bottom corner of one of the back pages. He called the police daily until they told him to stop; if they found anything they would call him. Don't call us, we'll call you.<p>

The emptiness ate away at him, the knowledge that he had lost the one thing he'd based his entire worth on. He'd promised to always look after Karen and with every passing day his failure became more and more apparent; and with it, Kenny began to spiral down, following in the same steps as his parents and his older brother. He understood now why they turned to drink; it was for escape from a world where nothing seemed worth living for.

The drink numbed things a little in that it made the days pass, but that was all it did. In his heart of hearts, Kenny knew it wasn't the right thing to do and he was becoming everything he hated so much about his parents. He was becoming a stupid spineless drunk who hid from his problems and faced up to nothing, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. Maybe if there was someone to pull him out of his funk, a well-meaning friend or something of the sort, but there was no one. The knowledge that he was now as good as completely alone in the world only contributed to his growing pit of self-pity.

Then one afternoon, when he was trudging out of the supermarket with a paper bag of alcohol and microwave meals under his arm, he saw a peculiar looking young man approaching him.

The man was dressed in a black and red swallowtail jacket and he walked along the street like there was nothing odd about it. He had a puff of candyfloss blond hair under a jauntily pitched top hat and blue eyes framed by smudged black kohl.

"Hello!" the peculiar young man called, raising a white gloved hand in greeting. Kenny looked all around him and over his shoulder, looking to see if there could be anyone else the peculiar young man was talking to. He was alone on the sidewalk, and sure enough, the young man came to a stop in front of him.

"I said hello!" he said in the same cheerful tone. "How do you do?"

Kenny blinked at the young man, taking in the entire ensemble, the fact that despite the heat of the day and the heavy layers of clothing, there was not a drop of sweat on him. "What the hell are you?" Kenny asked.

"I am the Great Leopold Stotch of Stotches Family Circus!" The young man gave a theatrical bow, rolling a hand before him. "But you can call me Butters."

"I didn't realise there was a circus in town…" Kenny muttered. A couple passed them on the street, their eyes boggling at Butters' attire. Kenny felt as strong wave of secondary embarrassment. "If you're looking for money or something, sorry. I'm all out."

"Boy are you mistaken," Butters chortled and it was such a boy howdy chortle it felt unreal. "I didn't come to take anything! I came to give you something, Kenny."

"How did you know my name?"

Butters didn't reply. He'd pulled his top hat from atop his puff of yellow hair and was fanning a hand over it, wriggling his fingers. As he pulled his hand away, a sealed envelope followed it. It hovered in the air between the two of them and stayed there until Butters motioned for Kenny to take it. Kenny turned it over in his hands, and then turned it over again.

"There's no way to open it," he said, frustrated.

"Now you won't be able to open it until you get home. And don't go trying to rip it!" Butters slapped lightly at Kenny's hand as he tried to do just that. With that same chortle, Butters smiled at Kenny, blue eyes big and round and lined with that dramatic black makeup. "You'd best hurry now. Karen's waiting."

"What the fuck do you know about—" Kenny's sentence went unfinished. Butters gloved hand knocked him back. It wasn't quite a punch, but whatever it was, it knocked Kenny for six. He heard the smashing of bottles when his bag hit the floor but he couldn't move. He could only lie there, blinking dazedly up at the sky. By the time he came back to himself, Butters was long gone.

Feeling confused and frantic at the first mention of Karen's name in weeks, Kenny fumbled with the envelope, but no matter what he tried, he couldn't rip it open. Each time he got it between his fingers it slipped away like it was greased. Then he remembered what Butters had told him, he had to open it at home.

It normally took Kenny half an hour to walk home. That afternoon it took him ten minutes. He flew through the front door, bypassed the living room where he just knew his parents were festering and ran straight for his room. He ripped the envelope open even before his door had fully closed. This time, it opened like any normal envelope should. Inside was a small square of card and on it was a typewriter written note, it was nothing like the note that had been signed 'EC'.

_Dear Kenny,_

_It sure was nice to meet you, Kenny. _

_I hope we get to see a lot more of each other _

_but you're gonna have to know a lot more about us first._

_ Karen's waiting for you._

_ The Great Butters L. Stotch,_

_ Stotches Family Circus_


	2. Chapter 2

_I can't see the future  
>But I know it's watching me<br>(wonder what it sees)_

Kenny had an uncanny ability to adapt and camouflage himself into most given situations. It meant he had little trouble meeting people or fitting in. But it didn't lead to lasting friendships or relationships. That took getting to an extra level of vulnerability that he was never comfortable with making.

There was however one friend he had managed to keep over the years. An apathetic disaffected youth named Craig Tucker. Craig was the first one to admit that he was kind of an asshole.

Craig lay on Kenny's bed blasting music through headphones while Kenny sat on the floor, Karen's journals and sketch books fanned around him. He'd ripped out a few of the pages and sorted them into a different pile for each of the characters.

The largest pile was for the trapeze artist. Karen's drawings of him were a kaleidoscope of colours and glitter depicting endless death defying leaps and spins from his performances. The stories ranged from detailing the other characters in the circus to heated rants and philosophies on life and the human condition. The words, though written in Karen's spidery crawl, felt foreign to Kenny. Oftentimes there were words used that he doubted Karen would have known considering he barely even knew them himself. It was like she'd been copying down someone else's words.

The second largest pile belonged to the fat clown. Kenny had only glanced through that pile. He wasn't sure, but there was just something cold and mean that emanated from those pages. The sketches all depicted the clown either scowling in a sinister manner or worse, smiling one of the cruellest smiles Kenny had ever seen. The stories told of the different tricks the clown had pulled on the other performers, but they all seemed cruel rather than funny. One particularly gruesome story told of how the fat clown had slipped firecrackers into the ring master's top hat leaving the ringmaster with an unsightly scar deforming his left ear.

Kenny recognised the ringmaster as Butters with that same puff of yellow hair underneath a black top hat. The stories in Butters' pile were much more modest to the point that they very rarely talked about Butters himself, instead talking about all of the other performers. He spoke affectionately about a close friendship between the trapeze artist and the handy man, referring to what he called a 'bond that's just plain magic' with a wistful tone like he wasn't even aware himself that he was actually envious of him. The diamond dancers were all 'his dancers', though they frightened him sometimes because they were so wild. And the fat clown… Kenny noticed, Butters spoke about his friendship with the clown like he wasn't aware how abusive it was. All the mind games, the cruel tricks and the violence, Butters always ended the stories with the words 'I sure am glad he bothers with me still'. It made Kenny a little nauseous to read.

The handyman had only a few pictures and in each of them they had the same sad blue eyes. Kenny wasn't certain how Karen had managed to capture such real emotion. The stories were like the trapeze artist's tales, talking about the rest of the circus and philosophising; only he did so in a much calmer tone. Where the trapeze artist was spark and fire, the handyman was liquid calm; he was a comfort to read.

The diamond dancers' pile was just chaos. There seemed to be an endless number of them. Blonde hair, black hair, boys, girls, no two pictures looked the same. And the stories were just a series of disjointed words. Sentences went unfinished and they darted between topics like fireflies. It was a nightmare to read and Kenny didn't spend long before he gave up trying to decipher them.

Kenny had been staring at the different piles for hours and he was still no closer to unravelling the mystery. He swatted the piles away in disgust and colourful sheets of paper fluttered around his room. What did Butters mean by saying he had to learn more about them? What was it he had to know? He knew what they looked like, their personalities, their history, he even knew who each of them liked and hated, the only thing he didn't know was their names. But Karen didn't know that either, not once did she ever use a single name either in her journals or when talking to him. So if she didn't know, how the hell was he supposed to know?

He leant back against his bed, flipping Butters' card round and round between his fingers. He tried to think logically about it, but there was no logic. The characters were random, there was nothing archetypal to them; they were as random as a child's imagination. Truth was he was at a total loss.

Kenny felt the bed shift behind him as Craig rolled over, slipping the headphones down to hug his neck.

"Are you done yet?" Craig asked in his monotone, nasal voice. "Ready to get wasted?"

"No!" Kenny snapped, he whipped his head around, meeting Craig's expressionless gaze then deflated, sighing. "Sorry, just, maybe you should go hang with someone else tonight."

"Fuck that," Craig snorted. "I've got no one else to hang with. Besides you've been like, hermitting for months now. It's getting weird."

Kenny looked sidelong over his shoulder, wondering not for the first time why he was even friends with this guy. Craig, seemingly oblivious to Kenny's annoyance looked closely at the pages spread around the room.

"What is all this shit, anyway?"

"Karen's sketches." Kenny said simply. Craig, to his credit, stayed silent at that. Back when Karen first disappeared, it was the closest Kenny had ever seen Craig to being some kind of comforting. For days, even weeks after the police had stopped paying their follow-up visits; Craig would come around and spend time with Kenny. He didn't say anything, didn't offer any vocal consolations or shows of sympathy, he just sat around, providing company. Kenny would always be grateful to Craig for that, but he would never admit it. That was something the two of them had in common, they hated all those hollow, showy gestures of endearment.

"Are you going to put them on your walls or something?"

"No," Kenny said. "You'll think it's crazy. But this guy came up to me in the street, some kind of ring leader or magician or something…" Kenny described the events of that day to Craig. He explained the dream world Karen had been living in for months before her disappearance, and he showed him Butters' card. Craig listened quietly and patiently throughout; his expression remained the same blank mask.

"You're right," Craig said eventually once Kenny had finished. "You're totally bat shit." But he was still looking over Kenny's shoulder at the pictures. He shifted, until his torso was hanging off the bed supported by one hand as he reached for a picture of the fat clown smiling sinisterly. Dark shadows cut into the fat clown's jowls. "You know that Tweek kid from school? He talks about weird shit like this all the time. He's crazy too. Maybe he can help you."

"Tweek…" Kenny searched his mind for a face to go with the name.

"Short kid, crazy blond hair, looks like he's slept maybe once in his entire life."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"Shit, I don't know man. Maybe, why?"

Kenny was already on his feet, "We're going," he said. He swiped a handful of the papers together, including the sinisterly smiling picture Craig had pointed out.

Craig groaned, but climbed to his feet, after all, he had nothing better to do that day.

When they reached Tweek's house, they saw a twitching of one of the upstairs blinds and an eye peeking out through the slots. Craig waved one hand in greeting and the eye disappeared.

"Like I said." Craig turned to Kenny, dialling a finger by his left ear. "Totally bat shit."

The front door opened a crack, and that same eye peered out at them, wide and grey and ringed with dark shadows. "Craig?" a fraught voice queried. "Who's with you?"

"It's Kenny, Tweek. We need to come in."

"My parents aren't in."

Kenny and Craig shared a look.

"So?" Craig demanded.

Tweek hovered uncertainly behind that cracked door like a skittish cat. His eyes darted back and forth between Kenny and Craig. "So I can't let you in. It's not safe."

"For fuck sake Tweek!"

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Tweek flinched away from the door like it had scolded him. Taking that as invitation, Kenny and Craig stepped inside.

_When Tweek was a boy he was stolen away by his imagination. No one believed him, but for a week or so he was held captive, and it was only through sheer luck that he managed to escape._

_It started when he began seeing a family of gnomes. They never spoke to him; they would just trek into his room in single file singing a little song as bit by bit they stole his clothing, starting with his underpants. He tried to tell his parents, but at ten years old, the words 'mum dad, gnomes are stealing my underpants' didn't hold much weight. They dismissed it as childish fantasy and attention seeking. But it didn't feel like fantasy to Tweek, he was fairly certain that something that was only make-believe shouldn't have the ability to take corporeal form and it definitely shouldn't have the ability to steal the entire contents of his drawers each night._

_Tweek was too frightened to touch them or even go near them, when they came into his bedroom, he would just watch them from under the safety of his bedcovers and pray that they didn't notice him._

_One day, he decided to follow them. Quaking with fear, and dropping back as far as he possibly could without losing them entirely, he followed them out into the night, a boy in his boots and pyjamas following a tiny procession of underpants bobbing down the road._

_He followed them down the main street and out into the patch of woodlands that lay just outside of town. The night was clear and the trees were illuminated ghostly hues of grey and blue in the moonlight. Before long, the trees started changing, they began twisting. The solid trunks of pine trees became gnarled, grabbing branches. The smell of pine needles and evergreen changed to damp and mould, it was a part of the woods Tweek had never been to before; he didn't think such a part even existed._

_Daylight came; it broke the darkness sooner than it should have. The gnomes came at midnight, there should have been at least five more hours before dawn. But soon enough, the world was bathed in the glorious technicolour of daylight, and Tweek realised that he wasn't in South Park any more._

_The gnomes stopped and turned around. They looked at him for the first time since they had started appearing. There was still a distance between them, but even with that, he could see that each of them was smiling. Their tiny, peg-like teeth shone yellow in the morning light._

They sat around Tweek's kitchen table. Or rather, Kenny and Craig sat and Tweek hovered behind them. Steaming mugs of coffee sat before them. Tweek cradled his in both hands and blew into it nervously. He was very purposefully looking everywhere but at the table top where the images of the fat clown and his companions lay face up.

"I don't know why you brought these here." Tweek fretted from behind his coffee mug. "Jesus, I hate clowns."

"Kenny thinks this clown stole his sister," Craig said simply. Kenny glared at him over the table to which Craig responded by flipping him the bird.

"Well, yeah man, it did," Tweek said. Craig and Kenny both looked askance at Tweek as the other boy wondered away, muttering quietly, "Fucking clowns, man…"

"Tweek." Craig said. "What?"

"The clowns are real, man." He looked at Kenny with fraught, fear filled eyes. "They took your sister."

"Why?"

"I don't know. But if she's been seeing them then they want her for something."

"How do you know that?" Kenny frowned at him. Tweek wasn't exactly what you could call sane, his shirt was buttoned up wrong and the cuffs were smudged and distorted from where he had been tugging on them. The way he held himself, it looked like he was wired so tightly he'd given himself a permanent Charlie horse between his shoulder blades. But there wasn't a shadow of a lie on Tweek's face. As crazy as he sounded, he was nothing but sincere and crazy as it was, Kenny believed him.

"They took me too, man. Clowns, they're the same as the gnomes." Tweek flinched at his own words, he made a guttural sound in the back of his throat. "That was who took me. Gnomes, Jesus man, I was lucky to get out."

"Where did they take you?"

Craig who had been listening to the two of them, his hooded gaze alternating between them stood up, he'd had enough. "The two of you believe this?" he asked. "Gnomes and clowns. Seriously?"

"I'm serious. They got me once."

"When the fuck did they get you?" Craig said and even though his voice was monotone as ever, it was clear he was becoming exasperated with the whole scenario.

"One summer, back when we were ten," Tweek replied, "I was gone for a whole week. Jesus, you don't remember?" His left eye twitched and he sipped fretfully at his coffee.

"You disappear like all the time. How am I supposed to remember one time?"

"Tweek," Kenny said, waiting until he had caught both of their attention. He stared evenly at Tweek, looking through Tweek's anxiety, blue eyes meeting grey. "How do I get her back?"

"I don't know, man." Tweek said, and he looked mortified. "I don't know if you can without… without going there yourself."


End file.
